I open up the work app and add the tires to her order. Carter finishes his conversation with his sister, having finally convinced her to let their parents, who apparently don’t like Carter very much, pay for her divorce attorney.
“Did I do that right?” I ask, biting my lip.
He looks through everything, nodding as he goes. “Good job. Whenever something gets added on last-minute, I also talk to the mechanic working on the car because they might not see the change if they’ve moved on to something else.”
“Okay, good to know.”
He looks at me funny, and as he’s stepping back out into the garage, says, “You’re welcome to hang out here for the rest of the afternoon if you’d like. There’s not much to do, but the Wi-Fi is strong.”
I fold down the dog-eared edges of the notepad. “How are you staying on top of things with your office manager gone?”
“I’ve been returning a lot of angry voicemail messages. And letting the trash pile up.”
“Well, then, maybe if I take phone calls for the rest of the afternoon, that’ll pay for the diagnostic.”
He frowns. “I told you, the diagnostic is free. It’s fine.”
I raise my brows at him and shake my head. “Non-negotiable.”
He laughs, mostly to himself. “All right, queer’s got claws. I see you.”
I’ve never been called queer in a way that sounded positive before, and I kind of like it. I sit down on the worn-but-comfortable office chair, bending my leg underneath me, holding up a peace sign, which he seems to find endlessly amusing.
He leaves me to it, and I spend the rest of the afternoon answering phone calls and uploading the videos from Baton Rouge, Lafayette, and Houston. This is quickly followed by answering worried texts from my mom. I send her reassuring messages, even though I have no clue how I’m going to make all of this work.
Chapter4
Carter
Icheck in on Knox around four, and the office is inexplicably cleaner. He’s also on the phone with Mr. Cunningham, the local grouch. Knox is actually laughing while, if I’m not mistaken, up-selling him on a fancier tune-up. I reach behind the desk and grab another Coke from the refrigerator, ignoring how nice it feels when our thighs brush.
I try to intercede when Mrs. Finnegan shows up for her car, but he charms her as well. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. He’s not trying to be charming, he simply exudes specialness. His earlier doe-eyed look was appealing, but this easy way he has with people seems more real. Like maybe this is who he is when not so stressed. And I feel a little hit of pride knowing that he feels safe at my place of business.
By the end of the day, I’ve got good news and bad news regarding his car. I hate the idea of having to give him bad news, so I put it off until he’s followed me to my apartment above the shop.
“I’ll be honest, given the state of your office, I was expecting much worse than this,” he says, grinning at me.
Fucking dimples.
“I can only have chaos in one area of my life at a time,” I toss back as I walk into the kitchen. “Damn, I’m starving. I assume you must be too.”
He nods, his stomach grumbling in response. I grab a bag of tortilla chips and some salsa, shoving them in his direction. “Here, nosh on this, get comfortable. I need to take a quick shower, then I’ll get some burgers up on the grill.”
His eyes roll to the back of his head, and he clasps his palms together, prayer-like. “I haven’t had a good burger in so long. That sounds delicious.”
“Well, you haven’t had my burgers yet. They could suck.”
“I doubt it,” he says, giving me country-fried attitude with a hand on his hip.
I can usually accomplish what I need to in a shower in under five minutes. It’s possible that I take a few extra moments to scrub all of the grease out from underneath my fingernails. I may or may not use the good-smelling soap that I save for my going-out nights. And if I should so happen to forget a T-shirt with my sleep pants, I’m just used to walking around that way.
When I make my way back into the living room, he’s sitting on the couch in short cotton shorts and a cutoff gamer T-shirt, one toned leg tucked underneath him as he texts someone on his phone. His exposed limbs feel more intimate than my shirtless chest, and my fingers twitch with the need to stroke fire over the miles of smooth skin. He looks up, then looks down just as quickly, his cheeks coloring. I can’t decide if the whole biting his lip thing is sexier than his dimples, and in the end, I declare a tie.
Wordlessly, I pull out the supplies and prepare the ground meat. From the reflection in the window, I catch him checking me out, but the fool idea I had earlier in the day pretty much means I’ve got to keep it in my pants.
Sucks to be me.
I make quick work of the burgers, and when I come back inside, he’s already sliced up the tomatoes, separated out the lettuce leaves, and organized the condiments. I’m so accustomed to doing everything on my own that this little moment of domestication feels nice.
